


Eat Me

by MaesterChill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Chocolate, Chocolate Penis, Chocolatier Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, Getting Back Together, H/D Food Fair 2018, Harry Potter has a sweet tooth, Kissing, Ludicrous Patents, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Reconciliation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 12:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16017770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaesterChill/pseuds/MaesterChill
Summary: Harry's having a terrible morning. That is, until he receives a curious package at work. Inside are two things: a chocolate model of an erect penis, and a note simply saying ‘Eat Me’ in an elegant, inviting script. And Merlin, he’shungry.





	Eat Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [timothysboxers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timothysboxers/gifts).



> For Prompt #[113](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1E_uQJlIb5C6nLnMg8VrUUnrKtyx16is1FLbyvoxLEik/edit).
> 
> Thank you to timothysboxers for the awesome prompt. As soon as I saw it I knew exactly what to write!
> 
> Thanks so so much to [timothysboxers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timothysboxers/) and [lettersbyelise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersbyelise/) for the terrific beta and for supplying cauldron-loads of inspiration and advice.

Harry jabbed the button on the Ministry lift. Late again. Fuck.

That made it the third morning this week.

And it was only Wednesday.

He reckoned he really should give more of a shit about getting in on time. Especially considering he was head of the department. Merlin, he really should be setting a good example. Coming in late and staying late was the exact opposite of the example that The Human Wizarding Assistance and Resource Team (or THWART as they were known) would have him set.

But if Harry was honest, it was becoming increasingly difficult. To give a shit, that is.

He sighed and stepped into the lift when the doors pinged open.

It didn’t help matters that his office was on the seventh floor. And it certainly didn’t help matters that the new Ministry lifts had clear glass paneling, meaning that he had to endure the gawping faces of employees on each and every floor he rode past. The Fishbowl he called it, as that's exactly what it felt like. He gave a sheepish wave through the glass to Wilhelmina Bulstrode, Senior THWART Officer, whose frown had been deepening every day he'd arrived in late and whose forehead now uncannily resembled a relief map of the Scottish Highlands. She shook her head and looked back down at her work.

He rode the lift the rest of the way deliberately avoiding the pitying looks from the Auror Office, the disapproving stares from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, and the sniggers from the Portkey Office. He seemed to have become a joke around here and he couldn't quite remember when or how it started.

Well, no, that wasn't strictly true.

In truth, he hadn't gotten off to a great start when he’d dropped out of Auror Training after only three days. Speculation had been rife about the reasons, although he'd never confirmed any of them, even to Ron and Hermione.

When he turned down offers from other Ministry department training programs, the whispers and rumours began in earnest: “Chosen One has Chosen None", “Auror School Dropout—It’s about time you knew the score,” and even “The Boy Who Loafed". Luckily, Harry never read the papers so it barely registered with him, but the concerned questions from friends had clued him in.

After six months holed up in Grimmauld Place, the offers had started drying up and Harry had been so fucking glad. After another four months or so, however, time worked its slow and gentle magic at last, and Harry realised he could no longer lie around moping. He needed to get back out into the real world.

When he eventually accepted the only offer still available to him, an internship at the Ludicrous Patents Office, the rumour mill cranked up another gear.

Harry steadfastly ignored the background buzz while he worked out his internship. He found he enjoyed the pressure-free environment of the Patents Office, and he got to see George and Ron regularly due to Weasleys Wizard Wheezes being one of their most regular applicants.

The work had been tricky at first. Well. Not so much tricky, as complicated. Well. Actually. Not complicated, so much as time-consuming. In fact, _tedious_ was perhaps the best description. It was the paperwork, you see. So much sodding paperwork. Harry, you might not be surprised to learn, was not a paperwork person.

However, he found, once he got into it, a sort of solace in the drudgery of processing patent applications, of reading through the minutiae of wacky inventions and harebrained ideas. And sometimes, just sometimes, there was a really bloody good idea that actually helped people or made their lives easier. It made him feel like he was making a difference, and less like he had let the Wizarding World down with his anticlimax of a life.

After an excruciating two-minute ride in The Fishbowl of Mortification, he stepped out onto Level 7, and immediately tripped over a box of parchment that had been left by the door of the lift. Cursing all four Founders and rubbing his shin, he brushed himself off and made his way along the untidy corridor to his office. He stopped for a moment to pick up a Quidditch poster that had fallen off the wall and nodded a greeting to Eldritch, the greying gaunt man in charge of the Gobstones Club, who sat nearby. He scowled internally at the tight-arse. The man chain-drank tea and had never once replaced the teabags or the biscuits, or even chipped in for them. It irked Harry no end.

He strode on down the corridor and called out, “Morning, Hortense,” to the stout, heavily made-up woman sitting closest to his office door.

Hortense Tuft looked up from the copy of  _Witch Weekly_ she had been studying, cheeks pinker than usual, and blurted “Morning, Mr. Potter!”, covering the page she’d been reading with a heavily braceletted arm. Harry could still make out his own name at the top of the page and sighed. At least it was the one publication that was still writing favourable articles about him, even if they did seem to be disproportionately focussed on his physical attributes and speculation about his sexual prowess.

“Harry. You can still call me Harry,” said Harry.

Hortense had started addressing him as _Mr. Potter_ when he was appointed head of the department, and he wasn’t having much luck dissuading her on that count.

“Sir,” she said.

Oh, it was ‘Sir’ now was it? Harry thought. Wonderful.

“I’ve left the latest stack of patent applications needing final approval on your desk, along with a few Owls, your agenda for the day, and a rather splendid-looking gift box.”

“A gift box?” asked Harry. “Who from?” His morning was looking up. If his luck was in, it was another box of sample cookies from that new bakery on Diagon, The Sugared Snitch. Although, to be fair, that box had been delivered to the wrong floor. It wasn’t often the Ludicrous Patents Office was remembered for corporate gifting. He’d been pretty put out when the mistake was realised, but at least he’d managed to scarf a couple of Lemon Thins and a Viennese Whirl before the box was whisked away.

“I don’t know,” Hortense replied, shrugging her shoulders, “I couldn't see any card or letter attached. We were just told it was for the ‘Head of Department’,” she said, raising her fingers in air quotes. “That right, Morag?” she called to the prim elderly lady seated at the next desk. Morag nodded, primly.

Harry entered his office, hung up his outer robes and plonked himself down in his chair. He stared at the gift box. Hortense was right, it was pretty splendid looking. And definitely not from The Sugared Snitch, theirs was a gold and cream striped box. This was a deep red.

Feeling a rare twinge of dutifulness, he decided to get the paperwork done before diving straight into opening the gift box.

He glanced over the application forms before signing each one with his quill. He didn't doubt that Morag and Roger had been thorough, but he occasionally found something to query them over, and he wouldn’t be doing his job properly if he didn’t check them.

He hummed as he went through them. So far so good, most of them mildy ludicrous as always: an Enchanted Tablecloth with insect repelling charms, yep; Perfumed Floo Powder, okay; a hex-proof vest for Aurors, actually that wasn’t a bad idea; Bacon-flavoured Firewhiskey, he rolled his eyes; Voice to Parchment dictation charm, now that _would_ be handy; Broom with inbuilt windshield and umbrella charms, no, no, that had definitely been done before, he’d have to speak to Roger. He put that form aside and continued on: Chin Holster for Wand, hmm alright; and lastly a Kneazle Translator, fine, approved.

That done, he turned his focus to the Owls and the gift box. It _was_ a gorgeous box, shimmering red, with a wide red silk bow. There were no markings on it or card attached, just as Hortense had said. Sod it, the Owls could wait, he was too curious.

He slid the box towards him and ran his hands over its smooth exterior. He pulled gently on the ribbon and the box opened itself out magically, lid folding back slowly. Its contents were obscured by a piece of stiff card. Just as he was about to reach in, the card levitated out of the box and slowly flipped upwards to reveal the words ‘Eat Me’ in elegant copperplate script. He grinned. Perhaps it _was_ cookie samples after all.

He peered inside the box and gasped.

Lying on a bed of red silk, was an extremely life-like chocolate penis. Fully erect and looking to all intents and purposes like a large dildo. Leaning a little closer, he caught the scent of vanilla and cocoa butter and his mouth immediately began to water. He’d always had a sweet tooth, ever since his first bite of treacle tart at Hogwarts.

He darted his eyes to the closed door and back to the contents of the box. Who would send him this? He couldn't fathom it. All he did know is that it smelled and looked high quality, and it was making him painfully aware that he'd skipped breakfast.

He ran his fingertips along the shaft and marvelled at the velvety softness of the chocolate. It appeared to have been rendered in a dyed white chocolate and was—in Harry's opinion—the perfect flesh colour, marbled creams and pinks, with raised veins and a dusky rose tip. He traced his fingers along a bulging vein and took a sharp breath as something flickered in the recesses of his mind. _What on earth—?_

He slid his hand round the back of the chocolate creation and gingerly lifted it out of the box for a closer inspection. His heart raced. There was just something about the way it felt that had all his senses on high alert. He turned it over in his hands. He couldn't put his finger on it. Well. He _was_ putting his fingers on it and he still couldn't explain it. It felt… right. The texture, the cool weight of it.

The card was still hovering in mid air, taunting him. _Eat Me._ Merlin, he _was_ hungry, and it smelled so bloody amazing. Did he dare?

Holding it in one hand, Harry stroked along the length of the chocolate cock. The cool chocolate was beginning to warm a little in his hand and he stared, amazed, as a single droplet of... _precome?_ ... glistened as it leaked from the slit at the head. Again he wondered: did he dare taste it? Something about the sight and feel of it made his hindbrain take over. He felt a flush creep into his face, temptation boiling under his skin. _Why the fuck not?_ Someone had clearly gone to a lot of effort here. They wanted him to eat it.

Tentatively, he raised it to his mouth, noticing the ever so slight curve and experiencing another flash of something in his brain. It was maddening, how could he be he so affected by a piece of bloody chocolate?

He flicked his tongue out and carefully licked the end. He let the bead of liquid sit on the end of his tongue, before closing his mouth and swirling his tongue around. Exquisite unctuous flavours flooded his mouth. _Oh good Godric!_ Salted dulce de leche, just the right amount of salt and bitter notes to mimic the distinctive taste of ejaculate, but with enough milky caramel to ensure it wasn’t objectionable in the slightest. It was utterly delicious.

Needing to taste more, he licked the hard tip of the chocolate cock and was overcome. The heady taste of vanilla bean and cocoa slid across his tongue, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Merlin, those flavour notes were singing sweet harmonies in his mouth that he never wanted to end. But there was something else, something… Leaning in, he took the whole head in his mouth and then… Then he knew.

His eyes fluttered shut and he could feel his own cock stiffening. From the moment his lips wrapped around the chocolate cock and his tongue felt the double edge of the frenulum underneath, Harry _knew_. He knew exactly whose penis this was modelled on. Its unmistakable ridges, the way it stretched the skin of his lips. He’d mapped it all out with his tongue a long time ago. No wonder all his sense memories were going crazy.

Draco.

A moan, blissful and nostalgic, escaped his mouth. Gods, how long had it been?

He continued licking and sucking the rich chocolate, needing to feel Draco and taste Draco and smell Draco. To capture and keep hold of that ecstasy that he’d all but forgotten about. He was fully hard now, and lost in the sensations, the chocolate growing warmer and silkier beneath his fingers and tongue, but not melting at his touch at all.

Delirious with desire, Harry was transported to eighth year at Hogwarts. A deserted classroom. His mouth full of heavenly Draco. Fingers tugging and clutching at his hair and hips bucking into him, moaning “Fuck, Potter, _so_ good, _so_ good.” The first time he’d successfully deep throated and it had been so crazily scary and wickedly sexy at the same time. Opening his throat and breathing heavily through his nose, making wet noises as Draco’s cock thumped the back of his throat, gripping Draco’s hips tightly and stubbornly ignoring his gag reflex, mind over matter, drool running in rivulets down his chin, onto his chest...

He snaked his free hand under the table and pressed it against the hard bulge in his jeans. He thumbed the button, considering undoing his flies. He couldn’t go that far though. Not at work. _Could he?_

The warm chocolate began tingling in his hands and mouth, distracting him. He gave the tip another swirl of his tongue before reluctantly pulling his mouth away to inspect it. He was more than startled when it pulsed three times in his fingers before spurting warm sticky caramel straight into his face. _What the fuck?_ It must have been enchanted to—

Suddenly there was a rap at the door. _Fuck!_ Harry shot up out of his seat. _Fuck!_ Panicking, he managed to shove the choco-cock and the red box under his desk. Just in time, he grabbed a handful of parchment to hide his boner before Ron came bursting in.

“Ron!” Harry spluttered. “How nice to—”

“Harry, glad I caught you. I need that approval for the Hiccuping—” Ron stopped in his tracks when he clocked Harry’s face.

Harry was horrified. How could he explain being covered in chocolate cock jizz?

“Mate,” said Ron, looking utterly repelled, “Is that—Is that snot?” His voice had gone up an octave.

 _Yes!_ Yes, he could work with that.

“Er, yeah,” Harry stammered, “Yeah, I just sneezed. Um. Terrible summer cold.”

“Mate.” Ron repeated. “Mate, that’s bad. Ewww, it’s all over your face.” He took a step closer.

Harry could feel the dulce de leche oozing down his chin and cheeks and just hoped Ron couldn’t smell its sweet, enticing aroma. He put his hands up, palms facing outward.

“Stay back!” Harry blurted. “It’s, er, it’s pretty contagious.”

Ron backed off, grimacing. “Harry, it’s all in your hair too, and your ear. Merlin, there’s mucus everywhere. I don’t even think a cleaning charm’s gonna cut it. Reckon you need to go home and shower, actually.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah, I’m feeling a little wobbly to be honest.” In truth, he was having an immensely hard time just focussing on _not_ licking all the salted caramel off his lips. He really didn’t want to gross Ron out any further.

“Sounds like you shouldn't be in work at all, mate. You need some Pepper-Up, and quick. Why don’t you go home and I’ll get ‘Mione to drop some over to you?”

Gods, he could have kissed Ron. For reasons too innumerable to mention, however, he did not.

“That’s okay Ron, thanks. I have plenty of Pepper-Up at home.” Harry cleared his throat. “And you’re right, I could really do with a lie down to be honest.”

“No worries at all. Please shower first though,” Ron pleaded, “For the sake of your bedsheets. Oh, and I’ll just ask Hortense to locate that form I need for the Hiccuping Humbugs, so don’t even worry about that, just—just get yourself sorted.”

“Thanks mate, I really appreciate it. See ya Sunday then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ron sounded unsure. “Let's wait and see if you're better, eh?”

Harry heaved a sigh of relief when Ron finally left, still grimacing and muttering _“Nasty"_ to himself.

He licked his lips and whimpered at the divine taste. It was only then that it hit him.

The gift. Draco. _Draco_ must have sent him the chocolate penis. _But why_? He hadn’t seen him in six years. Why would he do this, send Harry this, and why _now?_ He felt a lead weight dropping in his gut remembering their break-up. He sat down, shaken, elbows on the desk and face in his hands.

“Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake!” he cried, jumping back up. He’d forgotten about the sticky caramel coating his face, which was now all over his fingers.

\---

Once home, he poured himself a glass of whiskey, sat in his favourite armchair, and mulled again over the conundrum of the chocolate stiffy. He couldn’t let it go. This _meant_ something. Why would Draco send it to him after all this time? Was it some sort of joke, to torment him? Did he—Could he possibly want to try again? If so, it was a bloody bizarre way of going about it. Who in their right mind woos an ex-partner with a confectionary dick that jizzes in their face?

Yes, Harry had a particular penchant for sucking dick, and yes, it was no secret that he was weaker for sugary things than a Christmas fairy in heat. And yes, he did recall how Draco’s filthy sense of humour had made him belly-laugh more times than he could count, and given him the horn on several inappropriate occasions. He chuckled remembering their NEWTs graduation ceremony. But still, this was quite the calling card, or calling cock if you prefer. Was this really Draco’s way of saying he was ready to give Harry—to give _them_ another chance?

He took a gulp of whiskey, relishing the fiery burn from his throat down to his stomach. The man had hurt him so deeply he thought he’d never feel safe or loved again. Harry didn’t want to hope, to open himself up to that pain all over again. But he _had_ to know.

Six years. Six years with nothing. And now this. He didn’t even know where Draco was these days or what he’d ended up doing. How in Merlin’s name was he going to find out?

He’d already quizzed a quivering Hortense before he left the office on how the package had been delivered. Apparently a young lad with ‘quiffy’ purple hair, and a French accent had delivered it in person. Identified himself as Nicola, so she supposed he must be gender fluid or pangender. Harry was low-key impressed that Hortense knew such terminology.

He (Or she? Or they? Here Hortense was less sure of herself, and so she gingerly stuck to ‘he’) had told her to pass it directly to ‘Ed of Daypartamon’. She said that she’d no clue who he was talking about, and politely informed him that there was no ‘Ed’ working here. Luckily Morag spoke a bit of French and was able to decipher who the recipient should be. In any case, it turned out to be dead end. He’d never mentioned what company he worked for.

Harry tried to think if he’d heard anything about what Draco had been up to. He cursed himself for not reading the papers. The git was likely married with little pointy blond Malfoys running about the place. But, if so, why the squirting choccy knob?

He thought back on the intense experience that morning, tasting and sucking the chocolate cock. _Draco’s_ chocolate cock. He’d been so stunned at how it had all come flooding back, not to mention flooding forward into his face.

The problem was, he realised, it wasn’t _enough_. His chest ached with emptiness and his belly pooled with want. From the moment he’d realised whose likeness he was sucking, he’d craved that familiar touch, taste, scent and hot heavy weight on his tongue. He needed the _real_ Draco. The only man he’d ever loved. Still loved.

Merlin, he was getting himself in deep again, wasn’t he? He was wary of how fucked this could all end up. He _needed_ to know though. He needed to find out what Draco’s intentions were.

He drained his glass. He knew who he needed to ask.

\---

“Alright, Hazza? Feeling better mate?” Ron shouted from the kitchen at The Burrow.

Harry walked through from the sitting room where he’d just Flooed in, smells of lemon roast chicken and gravy making his mouth water. He was there for Sunday lunch, just as he was most weeks.

“Yeah, miles better, thanks Ron.” Harry slapped Ron’s shoulder, before greeting Molly, George and Hermione. He looked around. “Where’s Arthur?”

“Daddikins is in the garage working on his latest invention, an adaptation of a Muggle videogame, Pac-Boy or something,” George answered, “It’s pretty kick-ass actually, there are these multicoloured Dementor ghost things, and they have silly house-elf names, Inky, Blinky, Pinky and Clyde. Anyway, they chase you while you’re trying to gobble up all these gobstoppers to win the level, but get this, sometimes there’s an enchanted gobstopper which is actually chocolate and changes you into a Patronus and means you can then defeat the Dementors, and it slows them down, but only until the spell wears off then they come back after you.”

“Um, wow, yeah, sounds… wicked. Dementors, gobstoppers. Kick-ass.”

Harry had zero interest in fighting Dementors anymore, multicoloured or otherwise. However, he did hope this would go as well as Arthur’s _Leviosa_ game—loosely based on Muggle _Tetris_ —which was still selling well in the wizarding branch of Hamley’s in Diagon Alley. It had been a real boost for Molly and Arthur and they’d been able to buy new kitchen units, a smart set of delph with twisting and shimmering ivy on it, and some shiny new self-chopping knives and self-stirring spoons. Harry had been proud to grant Arthur an official patent for it, and delivered it in person along with a bottle of Ogden’s Special Reserve.

Harry scooted along the kitchen bench to where Hermione was seated with Rose in her arms.

“Hey you,” he said, rubbing the toddler’s cheek with his knuckle. “How’re my two favourite girls?”

“Oi, I heard that!” joked Molly, chucking a brussel sprout at him.

Harry’s arm shot out and caught the sprout. He solemnly presented it to Rose, whose eyes widened in wonder. She took a bite and scrunched up her nose.

“Yucky. Bleuughh,” Rose spat the chewed up pieces of sprout out, some landing in Harry’s lap.

“I heard that too, young lady,” laughed Molly. “Come here and let me wipe your mouth.”

“Thanks Molly,” said Hermione, handing Rose over. She turned to Harry. “Ron tells me you were really ill during the week. Said it looked awful. What was it?”

“A case of the dreaded lurgy, I suppose,” Harry said uncomfortably. Hermione frowned at him. “Honestly, it cleared right up after some Pepper-Up and a lie down. It was nothing.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing from what Ron told me. Anyway, the main thing is you’re all better,” she flashed him a grin. “So what’s new? Any men on the scene? Weren’t you supposed to be going for drinks with that Gideon chap in Accidental Magic Reversal?”

Harry grimaced. He’d cancelled his Thursday date with Gideon. His head had still been in disarray, ruminating about Draco, and he’d found he just wasn’t in the mood.

“Er, yeah, Gideon is lovely, but I was still getting over the cold thingy, so I took a rain check,” Harry swallowed. “Actually, ‘Mione, I was hoping you might be able to help me.”

There was no easy way to broach the subject. His relationship with Draco had been a complete secret. He hadn’t breathed a word to her or Ron when it ended messily and he’d had to drop out of the Auror program.

He would have to stretch the truth a little. He would have to lie. To his best friend. Lying to a best friend twice in one week. He hated this. But if he told his friends the truth and it all ended badly, he couldn’t bear their pity. That was something he’d rather deal with on his own without burdening his friends. If things went well on the other hand, he could share the good news with them in due course. Plus, he reasoned, how could he tell the truth now without them wheedling the chocolate schlong story out of him? That was something he was _not_ prepared to discuss.

“So, I was wondering if you’d any idea how I could get in touch with Malfoy?” He mentally patted himself on the back for remembering to use ‘Malfoy’ instead of ‘Draco’. Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. “Er, someone at work said he wanted to apply for a patent and I, er, need to get the forms to him. Don’t read the papers, so yeah, no idea where he lives or works.”

Hermione fixed him with a withering look which told him she hadn’t bought a word of it. She held his gaze for a few moments before flopping her shoulders with a sigh. “I do know where he works. And, to be honest, I’m surprised you’ve never asked about him before.”

Harry blinked. “Wh-what do you mean? Why would I—?”

“We know you had _a thing_ with Malfoy in eighth year, Harry. Just because you have that cloak doesn’t mean you’re completely inconspicuous.”

Harry was floored. They’d known? All along? And never said?

“You knew? All along? And never said?”

“Well. Strongly suspected. Harry, you’re about as discreet as a Bludger to the head when you’re trying to hide something. Plus, the strong smell of sage and black pepper off you after you’d been for a walk around the lake was a bit of a clue. A smell uncannily like the cologne that Malfoy wears…”

“Bloody hell, tell me again why you didn’t join the Aurors?” He realised his hands were shaking and clasped them together. “But I still don’t get why you didn’t say anything.”

“We wanted you to come to us when you were ready. And honestly, we were just so glad to see you smile again, to see that Harry spark back in your eyes. We didn’t want to ruin that. So we—we let you do your thing.”

Harry looked down at his clasped hands, his chest tight with love and regret. “Oh ‘Mione. It wouldn’t have mattered. It ended anyway and I—” His throat felt swollen, and his eyes prickled, “I don’t want to talk about all that right now,” Harry met her eyes, “if that’s okay? But I would like to get in touch with him. I need to find him and see whether...and figure out once and for all if...Oh Merlin, I don’t know. Just _please._ I need to do this.”

She squeezed his hand. “Of course, Harry,” and spooned some roast potatoes onto his plate.

\---

It was a Monday morning just like any other at _Chocolats Malicieux_. The drizzle pittered against the sloping windows in the ceiling, the WWN DJs were spouting their usual drivel and playing the entire back catalogues of Blodwyn Bludd and Celestina Warbeck, and the smell of cocoa and vanilla permeated the air.

The bell above the door tinkled and Draco Malfoy laid his wand down and looked up from the chocolate model of Hogwarts that he was working on. He swiveled his stool around, stood up and strolled through the workshop doorway into the shop just as the door opened. His limbs froze as he stared into familiar green eyes ringed by black steel spectacles.

Harry.

He willed his heart to stop thudding. He was a professional, and Harry was a possible customer. He _had_ to think of him like that. Not as an erstwhile rival and lover. Certainly not as the only man he’d ever cried over. And absolutely not as the only man he’d ever loved. Still loved.

He could do this. He walked towards Harry.

“Potter. How can I help you? Or perhaps you’re just browsing?”

Harry shook his head briefly, almost as if to shake a thought away, hair flicking from side to side and then tumbling back in his eyes.

“D-Draco,” Harry stuttered. “You work here. You’re a—”

Draco watched him looking around the shop at the various playful creations. Harry’s eyes alighted on a sculpture of a naked man bent over spreading his arse cheeks, and Draco saw his adam’s apple bob in his throat before he looked up at him.

“A Chocolatier, Potter. Yes, that’s my job, and my name above the door.”

Harry looked like he’d been hit with a stunning spell. Draco was perplexed. Had he not been expecting to see Draco here? What on earth was he doing here? Surely he—

“I need to speak to you,” Harry blurted. His eyes darted over to the purple haired boy who had just walked through from the kitchen in the back. “In private.”

Well this was interesting, Draco thought. He noticed then that Harry was clutching a brown paper bag. Had he brought him something?

“Very well,” Draco clapped his hands twice. “Nicolas, would you be a dear and fetch us a couple of gingerbread lattes?”

Nicolas looked up from the box he’d started wrapping with a blank look. Draco rolled his eyes.

“ _Deux lattes,_ please Nicolas _, au sirop de pain d’épice,”_ He walked over and pressed two Sickles into the boy’s palm, sighing. He supposed he ought to treat the boy to one too, _“et un café pour toi aussi, bien sûr._ ”

“No problehm, Drahco,” Nicolas breathed, “I’ll be back _tout de suite_ ”.

Draco called after him testily, “It’s Draco, not Drahco, _Dray_ -co!”

Harry chuckled, a deep but bright sound, and it made Draco’s heart stutter.

He recovered himself. “Salazar. That boy drives me potty. He’s lucky he’s a skilled sugar worker or I’d have hexed him by now.”

“New, is he?” Harry asked, still smiling.

“Just hired him two weeks ago. Oh, you know what, he’s not completely inept. I’m just used to working alone.” Merlin, why did he feel the need to tell Harry this?

“He’s besotted with you,” Harry said softly.

“What?” Draco sniffed. “Whatever gives you that idea?”

“Just the way he is around you. I’ve _been_ there, remember? I know how he feels.”

Draco’s breath caught and he felt his ears heating up.

“ _Potter_ ,” he chastised. He couldn’t figure this Harry out. Shouldn’t he be bitter and resentful after all that had happened? The last time they saw each other he—

“Odd name for a boy, Nicola.” One of Harry’s fingers pulled his lip down in a very distracting fashion as he contemplated his next words. “Hortense thought he might be pangender. I thought perhaps he just had cruel parents.”

Draco burst out laughing in spite of himself. He’d forgotten how adorably dense Harry could be. He quickly schooled his features into what turned out to be a sneer-scowl.

“Potter, you dullard, it’s Nico _las_ , with a silent ‘s’ on the end. It’s French, _obviously_ , the equivalent of Nicholas.”

Harry had the good grace to look sheepish. “Huh. Well it sounds like a girl’s name. Must get pretty annoying for him.”

“Honestly? I think he’s completely oblivious to it.”

Silence stretched out uncomfortably for several moments as Harry made a show of looking all around him, anywhere but at Draco. The oaf then proceeded to lean back against a display plinth, knocking over a bowl of painted chocolate flowers. Thankfully he still had those famed quick reflexes and managed to cast a cushioning charm before they hit the ground. Harry levitated them back towards the bowl, and an irresistible notion overtook Draco.

Just before the flowers landed back in the bowl, he plucked one of them, a red rhododendron, out of the air. “Here,” he said holding it out to Harry, “Try it.”

Harry startled and looked from the chocolate up to Draco’s eyes. Draco’s heart sped up as he gazed at the face he’d not seen in six years. Aside from the darker circles under the eyes, giving it a tired cast, it was exactly as he remembered. Beautiful. A blush rose on Harry’s cheeks and Draco became aware that he was staring and cleared his throat sharply.

“Go on. It’s the finest quality milk chocolate, I assure you.”

Harry hesitantly took the flower and raised it to his mouth. He bit off a petal and closed his eyes, sucking on the piece of chocolate. Draco could discern Harry’s tongue and throat working the chocolate and immediately regretted his rash actions. Harry was humming in pleasure and Draco was thinking about his soft wet mouth. Merlin, this wouldn’t do: he was getting turned on. The last thing he needed was a hard-on at work with a potential customer.

“Well,” he rasped. Fuck, his mouth was dry. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

Harry’s eyes snapped open, and he swallowed the chocolate down. Draco watched his distracting adam’s apple bobbing once again. It was doing nothing to help quell his imminent erection.

Harry opened his mouth as if to speak and closed it again. Draco was puzzled.

“Just start by explaining why you’re here. Perhaps?”

“So you _don’t know_ why I’m here?” Now it was Harry’s turn to look puzzled.

“Well no of course not. How could I? You’ve just walked in, for Merlin’s sake. I may be a skilled Legilimens but I tend not to exercise it on customers.”

“Er, you sent me this?” Harry stuck his hand into the brown bag and pulled out a box. A Chocolats Malicieux gift box, to be exact. One of the red ones, which meant the contents were from their erotic line.

“ _I_ sent _you_ that? I’ve done nothing of the sort. I don’t even know where you live.” Harry must be confused. Draco’s brow furrowed. “Okay. What was in the box?”

Harry was looking at him strangely. “Well if not you, then—"

“The contents, Potter. What were they?”

Harry looked exceedingly embarrassed and dragged his hand through his hair.

“Er, there’s clearly been some misunderstanding.”

“Out with it, Scarhead.”

“Well, it was a chocolate cock. A squirting cock. Yours. Your cock. I mean, it was moulded on yours. Not actually your cock. Obviously.”

Draco’s eyes went wide. And not because Harry kept saying cock in that deep rumbly voice. He had the prototype! How on earth did Harry get his hands on it? And he knew it was modelled on Draco? He’d not told a soul about that. How? It was impossible.

“How? It’s impossible. There have only been four prototypes made. They’re not even anywhere close to going on sale yet.”

“I told you. _You_ sent it. It was delivered to my office last week by your purple-haired Nicolass.” Harry sounded the ‘s’ out deliberately. “Where I work? The Ludicrous Patents Office?”

The Knut dropped. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Aahhh. Of course. Wait, so where is it now? The box is empty. Potter, did you… actually… eat it?”

“It bloody said Eat Me!” Harry spluttered. “What did you expect me to do?”

“I _expected_ that the Head of Patents would just refer to the accompanying paperwork.”

“What paperwork? Wait a minute.” A second Knut dropped. “This was sent as a _patent_ _application_?”

“You thought—you thought I sent it as a gift? Oh Salazar.”

Draco was stricken. Harry had said he knew it was modelled on Draco, which meant he thought that Draco had delivered him a chocolate replica of his own dick. Draco’s head swam and his chest felt tight. Harry had come all this way in person to… What? To thank him? Surely not. To ask him what the fuck he was playing at after six years. More likely.

“There was no paperwork,” Harry spluttered. “Nothing! Just a sodding floating _Eat Me_ card. And, for the record, people don’t _usually_ send in the _actual_ invention with their application!”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Merlin, I can’t even trust Nicolas with a bloody application form. I’m usually so very punctilious about these things.” He sighed again. “Sincere apologies for the bungle, Potter.”

Harry was placated somewhat by Draco’s contrition. Unfortunately, indignant Harry was quickly replaced by dejected Harry.

“I’ll go. I’ve wasted enough of your time.” He turned to leave.

Something in Draco lurched.

He couldn’t let Harry go.

Not again.

“No, wait,” he implored. He steeled himself. “I—I want to say something.”

Pain flashed in Harry’s eyes. “I’ll approve your patent, you don’t need to worry,” he gritted out.

“Not that. I want to say I’m sorry. For before, when we were—” Draco swallowed. Tears threatened to well in his eyes but he managed to breathe it out. “It’s been eating me up for years. I’m sorry—sorry I hurt you. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have listened to my parents. I was—I was weak.”

Harry’s eyes widened in astonishment. Draco went on, “I tried. I really tried, but in the end I couldn’t go through with the Astoria arrangement. I couldn’t.”

“I didn’t know. You—you never contacted me.”

“I’d hurt you so badly, I thought—I assumed you’d never want to see me again. I thought you hated me.”

“I’ve never hated you, Draco. Not at school when we antagonised each other. Not even after you broke my heart.”

“But you were so angry that day. I—”

“Yeah, I was angry, really fucking angry. Yeah, it hurt so bad that at times I wanted to end it all. But, in time, I came to terms with your reasons: why you didn’t want us to go public, why you had to honour your parents wishes.” Harry eyes bored into Draco. “And despite the pain, I would have taken you back in a heartbeat at any time over the last six years, no questions asked. No debate. No argument.”

“And now?” Draco’s mouth was dry, and his skin had risen up in goosebumps.

“My feelings haven’t changed, Draco,” Harry murmured. “But over the years I came to accept that those feelings are one-sided, and I learned to deal with that.” Harry took a deep breath and blinked slowly. “When I saw—when I felt that chocolate, I _knew_. I could never forget the shape of you, the feel of you. Merlin, those moments we shared are burned into my psyche forever. And I dared, I dared to hope, that my time had finally come, that you were reaching out to me.” He hung his head. “I feel like a proper fucking idiot.”

“Oh Harry.”

Harry’s head jerked up at the use of his first name.

“Harry, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay, don’t be. It was all a mix-up, I’ll leave you alone. I’ll be fine.”

“No, you dolt. I’m _sorry_ I ever broke up with you. I’ve wanted to be back in your life this whole time. I just assumed I’d fucked everything up irreparably, and that you wouldn't even want to speak to me. Now that you’re here, I just—Please, can you let me explain?”

Harry was gaping at him. Draco’s heart clenched as two glittering green pools fixed on him, their owner nodding in assent.

“After I split with Astoria, things became unbearably frosty with my parents and I no longer wished to stay in England. France seemed like the most sensible option, what with me being fluent in the language. I took a Portkey to St. Etienne, and after a few enquiries I enrolled at a renowned _école de pâtisserie_ in the Haute-Loire to train as a _chocolatier_ slash _confiseur_. I threw myself into it and once qualified I interned at various Paris Chocolatiers, until one day I got an Owl from Mother. It was very—” Draco took a shaky breath. “She wrote that she and Father had forgiven me and accepted my sexuality and that they missed me terribly. And that’s when I decided to come back and try to rebuild a life for myself back in England—that was five months ago—and, _voila_ , _Chocolats Malicieux_ was born.” He paused and gestured around him. “ _Malicieux_ means mischievous and whimsical, which describes my products quite well I happen to think.”

Harry was studying him, his expression unreadable.

“Anyway, what I really wanted to say was this: that whole time, when I was with Astoria, when I was in France, a day didn’t go by that I didn’t regret giving you up. I missed my Harry, and nothing and no one could replace you. I lost the best thing I ever had. It was mine, I had it and I gave it away. It was all my own fault, my own cowardly decision. I longed for you every day while I was away. I still long for you, even now this very minute, and every minute since you walked through that door I have been longing to throw my arms around you and never let go.” Draco paused and reached out for Harry’s hand. Harry let him take it and Draco’s heart swelled. Finding courage, he softly said, “I love you, Harry. I have never stopped loving you.”

“Draco,” Harry croaked. His eyes were shining with tears. “Draco. Six years. Six fucking years we’ve wasted. What sort of stupid ninnies are we?”

Draco mock-gasped, “Tell me you didn’t just call me a ninny. What are you, four?”

Harry sniffle-laughed, “Well _I am_ a ninny. A twenty-five year old ninny. And I love you too, Draco. It’s only ever been you, you great insufferable prat.”

“Prat is preferable to ninny,” Draco laughed with joy and relief. He reached out, cupped Harry’s cheeks and leant in.

The kiss was soft and warm and familiar, sweet from the chocolate and salty from tears. And after all those years away, and even the past five months in England, Draco felt he was home, finally home.

After a minute of tender unhurried kisses, Draco opened his mouth, deepening the kiss. Harry grabbed him around the waist, pressing their bodies together. Harry’s tongue explored Draco’s mouth and his hands pressed against the small of Draco’s back pulling their hips even closer together.

At the increased contact, Draco moaned into Harry’s mouth, his arousal soaring. Harry rolled his hips and a thrill ran through him as their erections dragged against each other through their robes. The movement unsteadied them however, and they listed sideways, knocking over a row of dark chocolate penises and several delicate pulled sugar piranhas.

They sprang apart. “Fuck!” yelped Harry, “Sorry.” He was flushed and breathing heavily. They both were. Harry crouched down to pick up the fallen dicks and fish, wincing and adjusting his crotch as he did so.

“No, forget it. Leave it, Harry,” Draco urged.

Just then the door tinkled again. Draco spun round.

“‘Allo Drahco, eez only me, back wiz ze coffees. _Alors,_ ” Nicolas chimed, placing the cardboard tray on the counter. He spotted Harry and the mess on the floor. “Oh. _Tout va bien_?”

“Er, yes, everything’s fine,” insisted Draco. “Thank you, Nicolas, for the coffees. Mister Potter and I will take them into the workshop.” He walked over to get the coffee tray and just before entering the workshop he called back half-heartedly, “And it's Draco, remember? Dray. Co.”

They sipped in silence, darting conspiratorial looks and idiotic smiles at each other over the lids of their frothy drinks. Finally Harry broke the calm.

“This latte is damn good.”

Draco smirked. “I thought you’d enjoy it, what with it being head-achingly sweet and all. I remember you practically orgasming over the spiced gingerbread pudding at Hogwarts.”

Harry grinned, “So, what, you were trying to make me blow my load right here in your shop, were you?” They both laughed. “Well, in fairness, I probably would have done in the office if I hadn’t been interrupted. That chocolate dick was fucking delicious.”

“Salazar, you were interrupted! What were you doing?”

Harry proceeded to tell Draco what had happened on Wednesday morning, who was equal parts delighted and appalled by the tale.

“Morgana’s mercy, a summer cold? That’s genius!”

“Fuck, Draco, I’ve never been so flustered. That cock just _did_ things to me. Made me remember _us_ , how good it felt. Together. Like that. How much I loved the taste and feel of you and making you explode in my mouth.”

“Shit Harry,” Draco breathed, “You can’t just say things like that! I’m at work!”

“Dinner, then? Tonight. A date.”

A date. Harry wanted to take him on a date. Hope and joy surged up from his toes to his chest.

“Yes. That would be acceptable. On three conditions: one, I’ll choose and book the restaurant, two, you let me pay, the least I can do to apologise for monumentally fucking up our relationship, and three,” he smirked, “you tell me _all_ about how much you love my cock in your mouth.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Harry laughed, “And a date. Owl me at work when you’ve booked it. Speaking of work, I better get back before Wilhelmina in THWART pops a vein in her forehead.”

Harry turned to walk out and paused, squinting at something.

“Is that—Is that Hogwarts?”

“Oh that. Well, funny you should ask.”

\---

Harry stayed for a few minutes while Draco explained about his latest project. A few minutes turned into another hour as Harry marveled and smiled and laughed and felt the happiest he had been in ages.

When he eventually made it to work in a sage-and-black-pepper-scented bubble, he found that the stares he got riding the Fishbowl to the seventh floor didn’t bother him in the least.

He merely smiled amiably at Eldritch in Gobstones when he used up the last teabag, and stated “that’s okay, I’ll just have an instant coffee”, despite hating the bland muck.

And he certainly didn’t give a brass Manticore or a Fwooper’s hoot about the letter on his desk from THWART issuing him with a formal warning for excessive lateness.

He had a date with Draco Malfoy and nothing could spoil his mood.

 

**One Month Later**

 

“Many thanks to all of you for joining me here tonight to celebrate my 70th birthday. And how wonderful it is to see you all in traditional Scottish regalia.”

Minerva McGonagall looked out proudly at the groups of people seated along the long tables in the Great Hall.

“Most of you I have come to know well from my time teaching here at Hogwarts, and the last seven years as Headmistress. And the rest of you are special friends from outside of academia whom I see a lot less of than I would dearly like. I am gladdened to see some of my Gryffindor school friends that I played Quidditch with many moons ago, and also the surviving members of The Order that I fought alongside.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tartan handkerchief. “I now wish to say a few words about my time here at this prestigious school, from my first day I attended as a bright-eyed girl, eager to learn, some 58 years ago, to my…”

Ron leant across the table to Harry and whispered, “Oh man, am I glad they put the food out before she started her speech.” He speared two prawns from the giant prawn cocktail platter in the middle of the table, dunked them in the marie-rose sauce and popped them in his mouth.

Harry snorted, speaking lowly, “Tell me about it. Fifty-eight years’ worth of anecdotes. Just bloody Crucio me now, get it over with.” He reached out for a mini haggis-ball and dipped it in the whiskey cream sauce.

“Mmm. Aw Draco,” Harry mumbled around a full mouth, “these haggis-balls are so good, you need to try them. I’d forgotten how amazing our school dinners were.”

Draco rolled his eyes but leant in to kiss Harry’s haggis-filled cheek. Harry’s heart leapt as Draco breathed, “If only it were _my_ balls in your mouth.”

Ron groaned in disgust. “You two ought to get a room.”

Hermione hissed, “Ron! Leave them! They’re adorable.” She turned and smiled fondly at Harry and Draco.

“‘Mione,” Ron looked appalled, “What’s come over you? You look like your ship’s just come in.”

Hermione blushed and looked away, adjusting her blue and green tartan sash.

Draco smirked. “We do have a room actually, Weasley. McGonagall arranged one for us. And I intend to make good use of it.”

“Whoa, whoa, enough mate. Seriously, I’m trying to eat here.”

“Hush Ron, _I’m_ trying to listen to McGonagall,” Draco whispered with a smug purse of his lips.

As Harry ate his starters and tuned out of the speech, he mused on the last few weeks.

Their first date, and truly it _had_ been a first date—previously they had made do with clandestine hook-ups in classrooms, and later, in each other’s flats—had been wonderful. Draco had taken him to a fancy restaurant in Chinatown called _Opium._ They had entered via a charming jade door and were led to the Peony room where they shared a platter of dim sum and a bottle of Viognier, followed by several cocktails. Over the course of the evening they brought each other up to date on each others’ lives. The more the alcohol flowed, the more the tears and apologies were forthcoming. Until finally they stumbled out into the cold night, laughing and kissing and making promises to each other, so many promises.

The first of which was a second date the following night. That promise had been kept.

The second was to be each other’s dates for McGonagall’s birthday party. And, as you may have gathered by now, that promise was also kept.

The third promise was to take things slow, and not rush into sex. That promise was broken following the second date. Broken once frantically in the hallway of Grimmauld Place, once rather spectacularly in Harry’s bedroom, and once leisurely in the kitchen the following morning while the bacon over-crisped and burnt.

The fourth drunken promise was to never ever argue or fight again. That was broken mere minutes later when Draco revealed they would be wearing traditional Scottish kilts to the party. Harry ended up betting ten Galleons that Draco was wrong, which he grudgingly paid over once he’d checked the invitation the following day.

And the fifth promise was to never let anyone or anything get in the way of their love again. This, Harry realised, was an ongoing commitment that would likely be tested regularly, particularly if the _Daily_   _Prophet_ and the wizarding public had anything to do with it. But Harry didn’t care. He couldn't wait to begin his life again.

The starter plates, cutlery and serving dishes vanished with a pop and were promptly replaced by platters, casseroles and side dishes for the main course. Harry’s mouth watered. There was a steaming tureen of beef and stout stew, a whole side of lemony baked salmon, a platter of herb-crusted lamb cutlets, a mountain of bangers and mash, and a golden chicken and mushroom pie. Sides consisted of buttered carrots and parsnips, broccoli and green beans topped with toasted hazelnuts, braised brussel sprouts with chestnuts and bacon, mounds of buttery mashed turnip and a traditional dish of stovies, made with peppery potatoes, onions and minced beef.

Harry was just about to serve himself a portion of beef stew when he felt a hand on his knee. His bare knee. The hand slid slowly under the rough fabric of his kilt and slowly caressed his thigh. He shot a look at Draco who was busy listening to Neville, a slight smile quirking his lips. The git. The fact that they were both dressed as _true Scotsmen_ raced to the forefront of Harry’s mind.

This knowledge that they were both completely bare under their kilts went straight to his cock. He felt it begin to stiffen and was glad of the heavy sporran weighting it down. He straightened up a little in his seat and coughed, needing to distract himself. He helped himself to a ladleful of beef stew, and added stovies and a spoonful of parsnips and carrots swimming in butter.

“So Ron, how are the new Hiccuping Humbugs selling?”

“Oh yeah, excellent thanks, particularly the pineapple flavour, I think because it produces the gentlest hiccup. The lemon ones are a bit sharp, so it’s almost painful, might have to rejig the recipe. Oh and thanks for sorting that patent for Dad. Production of _Paccio Man_ started last week and he’s _finally_ bearable again.”

“Hey that’s fantastic. I bet it sells just as well as the last one. Oh, while we’re on inventions, there’s this new Enchanted Tablecloth your mum might be interested in.” Ron nodded as Harry explained its uses.

Draco’s hand had disappeared from Harry’s leg as he’d needed it to serve himself some salmon and vegetables. Harry found he missed it there. As he ate his food, Draco’s earlier words floated back to him: _If only it were my balls in your mouth._ A tiny Lumos lit up in his brain.

But could he get away with it?

He moved his hand under the table and released what he was holding.

\---

There was a loud clinking and Draco looked up from his forkful of broccoli.

“Whoops!” Harry exclaimed. “There goes my fork. I’m such a plonker. Be right back.” And then he was gone, sliding down in his chair and right under the table.

Draco snorted. Plonker was right. Harry’s table manners really had improved none since school. Well, he thought with a smile, they had the rest of their lives and countless more dates to sort that out. And sort that out they would.

As he chewed his greens he thanked his constellation for the fifth time that day that it had brought him back together with Harry.

Something brushed against Draco’s knee and he jolted it away at the contact. Having nothing covering his legs was freeing but it felt pretty unusual and made him a little jumpy.

“So Malfoy,” Weasley addressed him, brandishing a piece of sausage on the end of his fork, “Harry tells me you’re in the chocolate sculpting trade?”

“Yes. I have a little place in Diagon. It’s where Gambol and Japes used to be-ee.” His voice hitched audibly as _fingers_ pressed against the inside of his thigh. His leg muscles tightened instinctively. _Harry. What in Merlin’s name?_

“Ah yes,” Weasley was chuckling, “The famous Gambol and Japes just couldn’t keep up with Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Their problem was,” he jabbed his fork towards Draco, “they didn’t listen to their market...”

Draco could feel fingers lightly tracing circles along his inner thighs, and fought to concentrate on what Weasley was saying.

“...In any case, seems like it was a good result for both our businesses…”

Harry was now sliding his flat palms along the tops of Draco’s thighs, under the heavy fabric of the kilt. It felt incredibly sensual and Draco had to wonder where he was going with this.

Weasley was still talking when Draco felt warm breath on his thighs. He shivered. When he felt a hot tongue lick along his thigh, he began to form a pretty good idea of where Harry was going with this. Salazar, the man was insane. Insane and kinky.

“So anyway, what sort of things do you, er, sculpt?” Weasley was looking at him questioningly and Draco supposed he ought to answer. That could prove to be difficult with Harry blowing on the wet skin of his inner thighs. His cock was slowly beginning to fill and stiffen. Harry had always been unreasonably talented at blow jobs, so his excitement was difficult to contain. He spread his legs wide for Harry, moved his sporran sideways to rest on his hip, and then took a deep breath.

“Well… we have several different lines. We specialise in chocolate centrepi-ieces,” All of a sudden there was a tight wet heat around his cock, and despite expecting it, it was all he could do to finish his sentence. He felt himself harden fully as Harry’s tongue slid along the underside of his shaft.

“Ahhh,” he breathed, “And we also do cakes, and smaller gi-ift items.” Harry had pulled back to lap at the weeping head, licking and swirling. A hot palm wrapped around Draco’s cock and the wet tongue disappeared. He was stroked leisurely for a few moments and attempted to speak again, as he settled into the feeling.

“We have an erotic line, popular with couples, and we of course do boxes of bite-size chocolates, truffles and—” He had to pause as he felt soft lips on his balls, and the next instant the left one was engulfed in warm wet suction, and a hot tongue twirled firmly around and around and oh Merlin, that felt _good_. Harry’s hair was tickling his thighs as he suckled and Draco tried hard to contain a whimper.

“And what? Are you forgetting your own stock now Malfoy?” The Weasel was laughing. “Too much of that fizzy wine I think.”

Draco forced a laugh, as Harry moved to suck on the other testicle. “You mi-ight be right, Weasley. Yes, sorry, truffles made with fresh cream, and caramels, marzipa-ans, all sorts of fillings, fruit, gianduja, liqueurs—Oh _mmmm_ ,” Draco let out a high-pitched hum. Harry had just moved back up to take Draco’s dripping cock in his mouth and begun to suck in earnest, bobbing his head, as he massaged Draco’s wet balls with one hand and gripped the base of his cock firmly with the other.

“Mmmm, let me think,” Draco feigned a thoughtful expression, all the while breathing heavily and concentrating on not bucking his hips and giving them away. He widened his legs further, as far as they could go, and carefully slid his arse forward in the seat to give Harry better access. He thought he’d gotten away with it. That was, until he noticed Granger’s narrowed eyes on him. A flush crept up his neck and onto his cheeks.

It was at that moment Harry relaxed his throat and took Draco in deep. _Merlin!_ He felt his cock hit the back of Harry’s throat and had to grip the table hard to stop from shouting out. He fought to keep his expression neutral but he couldn’t stop his eyes from squeezing shut.

“You alright, Malfoy?” Weasley frowned. “You look a bit peaky.”

“Uh, yess, I—ahh,” Draco gasped breathily, as he felt Harry silently laughing around his cock, the git, the vibrations sending electric shocks up his spine. ”I, ah, think the salmon has disagreed with me. Uhh-ahhh, triggered an allergy. Just need a minute, some water perhaps.”

“Yeah, shit, okay,” said Weasley, hurriedly filling him a glass of water and passing it over. Draco took a large noisy gulp. “Hey, steady mate, small sips.”

Draco could barely concentrate with Harry sucking him deep and enthusiastically. He snaked a hand under the table to grip Harry’s head as it moved and wound his fingers through the messy hair. He yearned to look down but didn’t dare, he knew the sight would be his undoing and the gesture would make it far too obvious what was going on.

“Hey,” Weasley frowned, “What’s taking Harry so bloody long?”

Oh shit. Draco felt Harry still momentarily, before he started up again slower and more cautiously but just as slippery and delicious and deep as before. The dangerous thrill of potentially being caught was sharply arousing and Draco felt his balls beginning to tighten. He gripped the table again with his free hand, knuckles turning white.

“Er,” replied Draco.

"Harry!" Weasley suddenly called, "Come out from there and just ask a bloody house-elf for a new fork. If you haven't found it yet, it’s probably a lost cause." Weasley kicked his leg, right into the back of Harry’s thigh, causing Harry to gag and choke around Draco. The tight pulsing suction of Harry gagging around the head of Draco’s cock was all it took to violently yank the orgasm right out of him.

At the same time as Weasley was muttering, “Dunno why he didn’t just Accio the damn thing, the dope. Always forgetting he’s a bloody wizard,” Draco was coming hard with a whine, kicking his own legs out in spasm, and gripping Harry’s head tightly. Harry was swallowing and swallowing as Draco shuddered through the last pulses of his release.

Draco felt Harry pulling away, and as his vision slowly returned, he realised Weasley was staring at him in horror. Shit. Shit. Shit. He made an effort to calm his shallow panting and trembling knees.

“M-Malfoy,” Weasley stuttered, looking queasy. “Oh Godric. Tell me you weren’t—Harry wasn’t—” He grimaced.

Harry then popped back up into his seat, smiling widely and waving a fork, “Found it!”

Three heads turned to face him, taking in his messier than usual hair, dark eyes, flushed cheeks and perfectly—in Draco’s opinion—shiny swollen lips.

Weasley looked from Harry to Draco and back again. “Merlin. You crafty beggars.”

Draco smirked. “These kilts do appear to have certain advantages.”

“No shit,” Weasley was wide-eyed, “Um, ‘Mione, I think you dropped your lipstick.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Ronald!” she retorted, “Firstly, I’m not _wearing_ lipstick, which eliminates the need for re-application, _and_ the ensuing need to have a lipstick about my person." She levelled him with a look that had him shrinking back in his seat. "Secondly, I have no desire to get a ladder in my tights from kneeling on these wooden floorboards. And thirdly, I _also_ have arranged for a private room for us, so we can fully explore the _advantages_ of your Scottish attire later. _In private_.” She glared pointedly at Harry and Draco, however the attempted venom was diluted somewhat by the fact that her cheeks were pink and the corner of her mouth quirked up.

Not unsurprisingly, The Weasel was happy with that and nodded eagerly, “Yes, course. Merlin, I really love you, ‘Mione.”

Granger smiled and clasped his hand, and then exclaimed, “Ooh here come the desserts.” And sure enough the table was filling with pavlovas and trays of sticky toffee pudding and dishes of ice-cream and a large rhubarb crumble **.**

Draco turned to behold his boyfriend. His Harry. He looked as wrecked as Draco felt. He leant into him.

“I can _not_ believe you just did that,” he scolded. “You complete and utter reprobate. You are so in for it when we get back to the room.”

His mind was already racing with all the ways he wanted to make Harry pay, to make Harry moan in ecstasy, to not let him come until Draco was finished taking apart every last piece of him. Draco was going to be the one in control, of that there was no question.

Harry grinned. “Shush Draco, they’re bringing out your cake.”

The hall went silent as Professor Flitwick announced the cake. Two house-elves brought in a perfectly rendered chocolate replica of Hogwarts Castle, complete with flickering lights in the windows and tiny enchanted brown and white chocolate owls circling the towers.

“Dearest Minerva, this stunning Hogwarts Castle cake was created especially for your birthday by the very talented Draco Malfoy, former student and proprietor of _Chocolats Malicieux_. I’m told it contains a caramel and pecan sponge cake with butterscotch icing, your favourite if I’m not mistaken.” McGonagall nodded, beaming. Flitwick turned to face the hall. “Guests, a toast to the magnificent unsinkable Minerva McGonagall on her 70th birthday, may there be 70 more!”

The hall was filled with loud “To McGonagall”s and “To Minerva”s and clinking of glasses. Granger, Weasley and Longbottom all clapped and patted Draco on the shoulder in amazement. He nodded in thanks and his ears felt hot from the attention and praise. Harry beamed at him proudly, the sap.

They sat down to dessert and Harry angled himself toward Draco. He whispered, “I love you, Draco Malfoy. You’re so talented, and funny, and kind, and so unbelievably sexy. Sucking you off under that table was the hottest thing I’ve ever done. And, by the way," Harry's voice took on a seductive tone, "I’m still hard as a fucking rock here. Fancy giving me a hand with that?”

Draco gulped, head swimming with want. He couldn’t resist a horny Harry. He snuck a look at Weasley and Granger who were sharing a dessert and had eyes only for each other.

So much for being in control, he thought, all resolve going out the window as he slid his hand under the red and gold tartan and along a muscled thigh to find Harry’s silky smooth hardness. He noticed Harry’s hand tremble a little as he brought a spoonful of ice-cream to his mouth.

Harry was his weakness. As he surreptitiously stroked him, Draco admired his rugged features and bewitching green eyes, which were just beginning to glaze over. He was in deep, and he’d never been happier.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal]().


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